


reconsider

by mirocthound



Series: it’s easy as one, two, three [3]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Heartache, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I pinky promise guyse, M/M, Multi, Other, Polyamory, Sorry guys it’s still emo, Unrequited Love, a lot of wallowing, but not really tbh, miragehound, miroctane - Freeform, mirocthound, octane you bastard get over yourself, octhound, sexy times are referenced, this WILL be resolved in the next one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22098895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirocthound/pseuds/mirocthound
Summary: it doesn’t matter how good the offer sounds— octavio knows it isn’t good for him and he’s not giving in this time. or, well, he didn’t plan on giving in this time. he tried— for a whole five minutes. give him some credit, things are kinda shitty right now.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt, Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt/Octane | Octavio Silva, Mirage | Elliott Witt/Octane | Octavio Silva
Series: it’s easy as one, two, three [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540366
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62





	reconsider

**Author's Note:**

> yeah this is actual shit, but it’s been sitting in my drafts for too long and I’m too tired to put any effort into it further. besides, had to get this last bit of emo outta the way so I could finally get some fluff up in this bitch!!! :) hell yeah!!! Also please leave comments, they are the only thing that keeps me writing.

_You know, he’s not going to stop worrying._   
  
Octavio watched the words light up on his screen, letting out a huff of air through his nostrils, before flipping his cell over so he could no longer read anything else they tried to send him. Sadly enough, it didn’t stop his phone from buzzing every couple of seconds.   
  
He could already put together in his brain what he was probably texting. Octavio felt like an idiot for trying to come up with some sort of excuse… He should have known it wouldn’t just fly by the way he had hoped.   
  
When Elliot sent him the usual request to join them for dinner tonight (along with the second unspoken request to join them in bed), Tav had sat with his phone in his hands for a very, very long time. Uncertain of how to answer. The last time he came over, it had taken a lot out of him. The pancakes the next morning didn’t taste sweet, but just felt thick in his throat. He didn’t know if he wanted to do that all over again so soon… And he had eventually decided that maybe it would be better if he sat this one out.   
  
‘nahh, not tonight’   
  
Elliott’s reply had been followed with an unreasonable amount of ‘puppy dog eye’ emojis, and a ‘whyyyyyyyyyy’ that held so much whiny energy, Octavio could basically hear it. And, in a moment of quick thinking, Tav used his entire braincell to explain to Elliott that, well— it was because he was sick. Ajay had told him he looked like shit when she stopped by earlier today, so he was pretty sure he’d be able to get away with it.   
  
Elliott didn’t have to know his true illness was heartache.   
  
But, despite his best hopes, the excuse wasn’t enough to deter Ell. His phone lit up over and over with a thousand suggestions, all sounding equally pleasant and awful.

  
‘What??? Noooo :(((‘   
‘Are you okay? Do you have medicine?’

‘I make a mean chicken noodle soup :3c do you want me to bring you some?’

‘Or!! You could still come over, we have a couch’

‘And netflix’ 

‘We could netflix and chill ;))))’

‘Ok ok but like. Not that kind of netflix and chill’ 

‘Unless you want sum get well soon head???’

‘Either way, come on over. Houndie and i can take care of you.’   
  


Hell almighty, Elliott was the worst double texter. Wouldn’t even wait to hear what you had to say before running off, a mile a minute, spamming your inbox. It was the last message, though, that made Tav start to think he really was sick. _Houndie and I can take care of you._ The idea had his stomach twisting.   
  
The thing was, it sounded really good— it really did. But he knew the moment he went through that door, he’d be spending the whole night biting his tongue and trying not to think about how much he didn’t belong on their couch, eating Elliott’s soup, watching movies on their TV.   
  
His resolve was wearing thin, though. Especially now that Hound was blowing up his inbox too. They rarely messaged him unless they felt it was absolutely necessary. He was pretty sure they never actually used it for anything other than the occasional message— and to receive Elliott’s constant, overwhelming spam of various memes and selfies. 

That, well, and Candy Crush. It was terrifying, the amount of focus they held for the ridiculously outdated game. They’d glower down at the softly glowing screen, curled up on the balcony of Elliott’s apartment, wild hair tied up in a low bun with a cigarette resting between their tattooed knuckles.

The adrenaline junkie let out a groan, slumping down on his couch, staring sideways at the TV. His metal feet shifted against the floor, kicking away empty cans of energy drinks and bags of chips. His phone was now laid face down on the cushion, slightly muffled. Out of sight, out of mind… hopefully.

He should probably clean up a little instead of wallowing in pity, do something _productive_ rather than get all sentimental. But when he started thinking about either one of them, it was like a snowball effect. His brain firing off of all the wrong subjects, reminding him why both Hound and Elliott made his heart feel so full, and yet so empty at the same time. 

He slung an arm carelessly over his eyes, letting out a grumble. Who was he kidding, with productivity? Fuck it, who was he kidding with _cleaning_? He never cleaned, not unless Ajay burst open the door with a powerful kick and demanded he do something about his room before she whooped his ass. 

Maybe that’s what he really needed— a good ass whooping. It’d been a while since he’s had any sense knocked into him, and by now he’s sure he’d lost it all. How could he have any, when he was just sitting here. Writhing around pathetically and daydreaming about the times he could just fire back a text, _say no mas,_ and feel excited for a fun night, instead of thinking in circles about the pros and cons of getting involved with your best friend and his smokin’ hot partner. 

He wondered what the two of them were doing right now— other then blowing up his phone. If Hound was on theirs, they probably were actually playing that silly phone game of theirs— he’d gone over there enough times to know that the hunter designated a little time in the evening to crunch out the little daily challenges, have a few moments to themself. Sometimes, as long as he agreed to be quiet and not throw them off their game, they’d offer him a smoke, and he’d join them. It was nice, staring down at the sprawling landscape of Solace City, tapping his metal feet mindlessly against the balustrade, listening to the campy chimes and sound effects echoing from their palm. 

He’d laughed so hard his stomach hurt the first time he’d witnessed the sight, and they had shot him the most uncaring glance before turning right back into the screen. But, after a few times of joining them, he’d begun to understand why it was soothing. It _was_ pretty nice, after all, to just zone out for a while over a simple puzzle. He guessed he wasn’t that different, when he streamed Minecraft at 3am, letting years and years of ‘sicc gamer god experience’ just… guide him through the motions.

Hound definitely was the type of person to stay focused on every detail of every waking moment. Analyzing every person they crossed, body still, but hands always fidgeting— tapping at their sides, tugging on their gloves. Listening to every word (spoken and unspoken alike). He couldn’t blame them for wanting some time to blank out to something silly, with bright colors and catchy tunes to hum along to. 

“Y’know, they never used to do that.” Elliott had told Octavio one evening. He’d caught the speedster staring at them through the glass door to the balcony, watching the way the tiny, frizzy curls framing their face fluttered gently in the wind. Octavio has jumped in place, feeling like a voyeur. But Elliott didn’t seem bothered, witnessing someone else watch his partner with glazed eyes, drinking in their hunched frame, the way smoke curled from their lips, the way their long arms rested against their knees. 

“They never used to…” the trickster had made a vague gesture, trailing off to put his words together, and waving a hand in their direction. He’d been cooking, and he had a smudge of *something* against his nose. Octavio felt his fingers twitch with the urge to tease, before wiping it away. Instead, he just put his hands in his pockets, forcing himself to look back in Hound’s direction.

“They never used to take time for _themself_ . When we first started to talk, they were reserved, sure— but it was easy to see they were distr— distretst— did-ddidstress— _wound up_ . Took a while for me to get it through their head that it was _okay._ You know. To like— _turn off_ for a second. And even longer for them to realize they could do that around _me_. I guess this is what they picked, to help them do just that.” 

He’d just nodded along, in the moment— but really, he’d been confused. Why Elliott was sharing this with him, he didn’t know. It’s not like his understanding really mattered— neither of them had him over to _understand_ anything. He was there to eat dinner— simply a formality, at this point— before getting rawed by his best-friend-turned-crush, and his best-friends-partner-who-was-also-a-crush. There wasn’t a need for any of this, really. He wasn’t owed explanations into their lives, he wasn’t owed these glimpses into their domestic bliss. 

There was a muffled curse from behind the glass, and Octavio saw their brow twitch, their lips curl, their swiping becoming much more insistent, eyes hardening and focusing. _Is that what they look like, behind the mask,_ an intrusive thought wriggled it’s way into his brain, _when they’re focusing during the games? Do they look this intense?_ It felt like something he wasn’t even supposed to wonder, and he’d brushed it away.

Octavio moved his arm away from his face, staring up at the ceiling. His phone’s racket had drawn him from the memory, and his hand hovered over the little thin shape, debating whether or not he should actually flip it over. He probably shouldn’t. He probably should leave it be. He probably should turn it off, actually. Cut himself out from the outside world and just play video games until the sun came up. Self care. 

But at least his phone was a distraction from his own, tratrous mind. Mulling over how that day was the first time he began to realize the thoughts he was having weren’t okay. That he was taking too much out of what he was being gifted. When his brain started running away with the idea that he was important to be let in on all these little secret and private moments— mistaking trust and casualty for intimacy.

The first time he realized that he was being shown the beauty of a world he had no place in— it stung. 

He was sure neither of them intended for him to feel the way he did, neither one intended for harm. He knew those little personal gestures were to try and make him feel more _comfortable,_ to emphasize the _buddy_ in _fuck-buddy_ , but he almost wished they treated him like a one night stand. If he’d never been given that window, that glimpse into the softer part of their life together, maybe he never would’ve gotten stuck in this shitty mess. 

It only took a few more buzzes from his phone to finally break his resolve, and he flipped it back over, eyes hungrily devouring the words lit up on the screen. Huffing frustratedly through his nose at the sight of Elliott and Hound’s numbers, popping up before him. 

_Are you sure there’s nothing we can do???? I always hate being sick and all alone :((((_

_Miss Kitty makes the best lap-warmer when you’re sick, trust me I know from personal experience._

And finally, the nail in the coffin. 

_He already started making soup. He’s going to bring you some anyways._

_You might as well stop by._

Tav groaned, hands coming up to tug at his acid-green hair, before he angrily snatched up the device and furiously shot out a response with quick thumbs.

_There in fifteen._

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> up next: Octavio has his scheduled emotional breakdown.


End file.
